Cris de Borja

“Nightly Rising”

In satin pools of blood, reflection drowned.
She saw her face within the shining eye
of he who stank of cemetery ground,
who drained her to her death but not to die.

The looking glass is blank when she slides by,
never again her image to be found.
To darkness and to endless desire bound,
she creeps beneath the haunt of the cold sky.

Mirroring a mirror, unknowingly,
The pale glide of that celestial body,

Nightly rising with sickle dripping white,
the pulse of day changed to a pallid flow
of stolen life for a dead satellite,
that immortal older than she below.

6/12/2006